


written in skin [Jack + Stitches + Family]

by TANGOCHARLIE



Series: Jack Dalton's School of Infinite Wisdom [5]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Cairo Day 2020, Cairo Day Three: This is Going to Hurt, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), spy siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23666974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TANGOCHARLIE/pseuds/TANGOCHARLIE
Summary: Jack shares the story of the first time Mac stitched him up while Riley learns how. The next installment of Jack Dalton's School of Infinite Wisdom and part of Cairo Day 2020.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Riley Davis & Angus MacGyver
Series: Jack Dalton's School of Infinite Wisdom [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644943
Comments: 11
Kudos: 51





	written in skin [Jack + Stitches + Family]

“No, Jack. I can’t do that,” Riley protests, scooting back. “Please don’t make me.”

“Sure you can. C’mere, darlin’,” he beckons her closer, holding out his hand, fingers slick with blood. “You ain’t gonna hurt me.” 

Riley huffs in disbelief.

“Well, not much. And I’m tough. I can take it.”

“Are you sure this can’t wait? Can’t we just bandage it? Ex-fil is only a few hours out.”

Jack drops his hand with a shrug. He lowers his eyebrows as if he’s considering her words. He moves his hand back to the wound on his shoulder, groaning as he reapplies pressure. “I mean, yeah. I… I can wait. I can sit here bleeding. Getting more and more infected. Weaker. Fading away…”

“Jack…” 

“No, you’re right. Ex-fil is only a few hours out. Maybe they can start antibiotics right away so I don’t go septic. Give me a top off after they fix the leak.” 

“I think that’s a little dramatic,” Mac chides, rolling his eyes. “Your whole ‘I’m coming, Elizabeth’ could use some work.” 

“Nah, you gotta put a little more heart into it, a little more drama,” Jack says clutching his chest, and dropping heavily against Mac, closing his eyes dramatically.

“Stop it, you’re scaring her,” Mac says, but he takes the opportunity, with Jack so close to quickly reassess his partner. Fine beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip, and a tremor runs through him. Mac shifts position gently, taking Jack’s weight and allowing him to rest more heavily on his shoulder. “She hasn’t reacquired your unique brand of… humor.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. This is serious,” Jack cracks an eyelid, looking up at Mac. 

“If it’s that bad, maybe Mac should do it?” 

Jack sits up straighter at the uncertainty in Riley’s voice. “Hey, honey. I’m alright. Really.”

Riley raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Mac already knows how to pull out a bullet. What if it was just you and me out here? And I really did need your help. Or if it was you and Mac, just the two of you alone and I was turning over every rock and leaf trying to find you kids but didn’t know where you were. Didn’t even know where to start looking. I’d move heaven and earth to find you, I promise, but I gotta know that the two of you can take care of each other until I can find you.”

Riley’s face screws up as she bites her lip. Her eyes flicking from Jack’s shoulder. His shirt torn. White gauze packed against the wound turning red. Crusted fingers from where blood leaked between them and dried across his knuckles. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to take it out.”

“The general rule of thumb is if you can leave it you should,” Mac says looking pointedly at Jack. “It could be tamponading a bleed.” 

“First of all, ain’t nobody going to be using a bullet as a tampon, that’s gross dude,” Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Tampons were first used for bullet wounds in World War II. The nurses on the front lines realized they might have other uses as well.” 

“Great, we’ll add some to the first aid kit,” Jack says. He flexes his bicep. “It’s not spurting, probably didn’t hit a bleeder.” 

“Then there’s the risk of nerve damage.”

Jack hyperextends then flexes his wrist, spreading his fingers wide and touching each fingertip to his thumb with a grin. “Come on, hoss, when else are we gonna get this kind of on the job training for Riley? Even if you rig up some sort of Jello-man, or put skin on Sparky and let me put a bullet in his arm for her to go after, it's gonna be a whole lot different than asking her to dig one out of her old man in the field.” 

Mac wavers.

“You remember how tough that was, the first time you had to stitch me up, right, hoss?” Jack dips his head to make eye contact. “Would have been nice to have someone else with ya, wouldn’t it? Reassure you that it was okay.”

Mac purses his lips, eyes going dark at the memory.

“Why?” Riley asks. “What happened?”

“Tell ya what, Mac will talk you through digging that bullet out of my arm and practicing putting in some stitches and I’ll tell ya.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“Fine, then I’ll talk you through digging that bullet out of my arm and putting in stitches and Mac will tell ya about it.” 

* * *

The comm in his ear buzzes. Underneath the bursts of static, he thinks he can hear Mac’s voice calling him. He hopes it’s Mac calling him and not blood loss causing a hallucination. Either way, it’s what kept him on his feet the last fifteen minutes. The only thing that’s keeping him awake right now is that Mac is out there alone somewhere looking for him.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, bud, hope you can,” Jack grunts as he tightens the straps of his thigh holster. Tears fill his eyes at the pressure. "I'm okay, but I'm going to need you to come and get me. Not sure I can hoof it out on my own."

Jack leans back against a tree trying to control his breathing. "It ain't that bad, so don't worry." He snorts. "Look who I'm telling. I just mean, don't do anything stupid because you were looking for me."

He chuckles again when he hears his own words. "Maybe you'll listen to me, just this once? Be careful. I'm going to be fine, but I am going to need your help so you gotta be fine too, okay?" Jack wipes his face with the back of his wrist, his hands and fingers bloodied from the wound.

"-ack," the comm buzzes again.

Jack winces, putting a finger up to his ear and jiggling the comm when it squelches.

A twig snaps at his three o'clock. His hand moves to the gun he has sitting next to him, closing around the grip. Eyes scanning the underbrush. For all he knows, these crazy scientists hunt like raptors, the one you know is there isn't the one that kills you. The foliage rustles again.

"Jack!" Mac crashes out of the forest, shaking pine needles from his hair. "Are you okay?"

Jack breathes a sigh of relief as Mac drops to his knees beside him. "Buddy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you. Thought maybe you were the ol' clever girl raptor and I was about to get mauled and eaten by your friends."

"What?" Mac looks up briefly from his examination of Jack's leg.

"Never mind."

Mac pokes at the wound and Jack clenches his teeth.

"Is it...?"

"Yeah, I think so," Jack nods.

"You sure?"

"I've been shot a few times before, dude. Hurts like hell, but this is somethin' different. Shouldn't have been able to take me down this fast."

"Could be in the bone? Or maybe it hit an artery?"

"Not bleeding enough for that. Doesn't hurt like it hit a bone. It's icy and burnin' at the same time, just like the debrief said."

“Okay, okay,” Mac says, pushing a hand through his hair, leaning back onto his knees. He looks up toward the treetops trying to stop the panic he feels cinching around his chest. “Why the hell would anyone poison a bullet?”

“Kill ‘em deader,” Jack chuckles and breaks off with a groan, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as his head drops back against the tree trunk.

"Jack!"

"Sorry, kid."

"No, no, don't apologize," Mac looks back at Jack's pale face. A fine sheen of sweat coats his forehead and upper lip. "How long ago did this happen?"

"About fifteen minutes. You manage to get the prototype and schematics?"

Mac nods absently, rummages through his satchel.

"Good, good. Otherwise, I got one right here,” he teases, fingers tapping against his leg as he lets out a short harsh breath. "You're not hurt are you?"

Mac frowns at him while shaking his head.

"Even better," Jack breathes. "What are you looking for?"

"I was hoping I had more hydrogen peroxide, but I used most of it making triacetone triperoxide. TATP is pretty unstable and I needed to make sure I had enough..." He pulls out the bottle. The contents slosh inside.

"You probably saved my life, dude, those guys chasing me turned back when they that explosion."

"But we're already almost out of time," Mac shakes his head. "Our window is closing and we can't wait for ex-fil to take that bullet out. I can't clean my knife, I'll barely have anything to irrigate the wound. Even if I get the bullet out that doesn't mean I'll be able to flush the poison."

Mac runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. Jack can see him mentally creating and discarding plan after plan, cycling faster as he starts feeling more desperate.

"One thing at a time, dude. One problem at a time."

"This is oak." Mac stands quickly, moving to the tree Jack rests against. He flips open his knife and carefully cuts into the trunk. “This tree has a gall on it, or an abnormal growth which means a larger than usual deposit of tannins in the bark.”

“Cool, cool, always love a botany lesson.”

“The tannins in oak bark have antiseptic properties. I can clean the plier with it, save the remains of hydrogen peroxide for washing out the wound itself.” Mac carves out the yellowish inner layer of the tree, rubbing it furiously on the tool in his hand.

“I don’t know how you know the things you do, but I’m glad you know ‘em,” Jack says watching Mac prepare for his makeshift surgery, cleaning the knife and the pliers, tearing off the sleeve from his plaid button down shirt. He doesn’t want to say anything because Mac is already wound up tighter than an eight-day clock, but he’s feeling the effects of the poison leaching into his system. Nausea bubbles in his belly and he can feel his pulse throbbing in his head.

“Okay,” Mac says looking up from his preparations. 

“You all set, hoss?” 

Mac takes a deep breath. “As much as I can be. Are you--”

A wave of dizziness passes over him. “No offense, dude, but I really don’t want to watch this,” Jack admits. 

“Laying flat is probably better,” Mac agrees, steadying Jack as he reclines. “Maybe we should put your legs up too. Or at least the good one. That might help prevent shock.” Mac looks around and finds a large flat rock, moving it closer so Jack can prop up his leg. “Plus if you’re flat less chance you’ll hurt yourself if you faint.” Mac gives a weak teasing smile, trying to fall back into familiar banter.

“I ain’t gonna faint,” Jack protests. “I might pass out, black out, lose consciousness-”

“Swoon.”

“No!” 

Mac chuckles at the betrayed expression on Jack's face. The tension ebbs, Mac’s hands feel steadier, his heart rate slowing, at least until Jack speaks again.

“Hey, Mac, whatever happens here, or after, it’s not your fault. You hear me?”

Blue eyes are wide, uncertain, but he gives a small nod.

“No one else I trust more than you. Whatever happens, you are enough.” Jack takes a deep breath. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Mac moves to sit on Jack’s knee, holding the limb steady. He can feel the muscles of Jack’s leg trembling with pain and poison. He slices through Jack’s pant leg, and adjusts his grip on the pliers. Then slowly pushes the nose of the pliers forward, following the path of the bullet into Jack’s flesh. The wound track is narrow and Mac can feel the tool brushing against the sides. 

“Worst game of operation ever,” Jack’s voice cracks. His hands grasp at his too short hair, trying to find purchase in his fauxhawk, something to keep him grounded and distracted. His breath coming in short gasps.

“Keep breathing, Jack. Don’t hold your breath,” Mac coaches. A reminder for himself as well. He nudges the pliers deeper into Jack’s leg. Panic mounting with each push that doesn’t end with a metallic clink. 

He shifts the tool, holding his hand steady. Digging is the worst thing he can do.

Jack’s sharp inhale is punctuated with a broken cry. 

“I feel it.”

“G-- great. You, uh-- you got a hold of it?” He’s trembling with disquiet distress. The edges of his vision turning gray.

Mac bites his lip, focusing, trying not to shove the bullet further into Jack’s flesh.

Jack moans, forcing himself to remain still, hold onto his last vestiges of control and not buck Mac off his legs. He has a second to regret his inability to warn Mac before a flush of darkness rushes over him. 

* * *

“He was bleeding enough that I risked putting some stitches in,” Mac says, his voice carefully controlled, giving Riley something else to focus on. “Luckily, he’d talked me through the process when he put some sutures in me a couple of weeks before.” Mac’s hand absently rubs the scar above his hip. 

“Can’t believe you were listening to that. Retaining it. Thought for sure you were out while I was stitching you up.”

“Some of us don’t faint.”

“I don’t faint.”

“I carried you five clicks to ex-fil and you were in medical… how long was it, Jack?”

“They told me it was a week,” Jack grumbles, eyes flicking down, watching Riley’s progress.

“Hmm, told you it was a week? Was that because you didn’t wake up until day two?”

“I was poisoned.”

“And then you fainted.”

“Plus we found out after that I’m super allergic to oak.”

“Super allergic as in you can’t stop sneezing. Not that you had some sort of anaphylactic shock that caused you to drop like a character in a romance novel.”

Riley snorts and shakes her head at their antics. She looks up to find Jack’s brown eyes watching her face closely. Like he knows exactly what she’s thinking. Can see all her fears and insecurities and will do everything in his power to allay them. She looks back at her work, surprised that their story did somehow distract her. “I think this is the last one.”

“Alright, you’re doing great, Ri,” Jack praises. “Now tie that one off like I showed ya. Give it a snip. And we’re done.” 

Riley’s shoulders sag, hands falling to her side and tools thumping against the ground. Her fingers suddenly weak.

With his good arm, Jack hauls her against his chest. Hand cradling the back of her head. “You did great, Ril. So good. Didn’t she do great, kid?”

“Yeah,” Mac gives a small grin. “You really did, Riles.” He reaches out tentatively and places a hand on her shoulder. 

“Aw, come on, bring it in here, Mac,” Jack says, latching onto Mac’s arm and gathering him into a hug with Riley squished between them. Ignoring the tug of fresh stitches and holding them tightly. He’d be content to hold them both like this until ex-fil arrives, breathing in deeply the security of having his kids in his arms. 

“Okay, that’s enough,” Riley says, after a minute, pushing back from Jack’s chest. Stumbling a bit from the adrenaline crash, she sits down hard next to Jack on the forest floor. Suddenly, feeling drained. 

Jack smiles down at the line of stitches in his arm. A finger brushing against the row. He can tell where he lost the tight rein on his control and gasped, that stitch tighter than the others, when he startled her and she pulled. Then the next few looser, as if Riley was trying to keep from hurting him. 

“Don’t touch them,” Mac scolds, pushing Jack’s probing, inquisitive fingers away. “Your hands are dirty.”

“Don’t make me do that again.” Riley points a warning finger at him. 

“I won’t, darlin’, I promise.”

Mac snorts.

“Are you going to make Bozer learn how to do this too?” Riley crosses her arms and bumps his good shoulder.

“Ah, Bozer’s already got the stitches down.”

“Alterations and making costumes are way different than putting stitches in a person,” Riley protests.

“Yeah, can you believe that dumb kid tried to sell me a load of bull that it wasn’t,” Jack laughs, rolling up the sleeve of his other arm. “A couple of years ago I was helping him out with a fight scene for one of his movies. Caught myself pretty good.”

“I told you not to use a real knife,” Mac complains.

“It added an air of authenticity. He won that contest too. Everyone was impressed with the special effects.”

“They weren’t special effects you were bleeding on the scenery.”

Jack waves Mac’s concerns away. “He did a pretty good job, until he looked up and realized he was putting stitches in a real person.” Jack holds out his forearm for Riley’s inspection. The scar starts off straight, precise and gets decidedly wonky halfway through. “He almost passed out on me. Would have if I didn’t catch him. See Mac, I know how to take care of my friends when they start getting wobbly and not mock them for a normal human reaction.” 

He pushes his sleeve up a little higher. “This one is Mac’s second attempt. I’d show you the first but I don’t really want to strip down to my skivvies in the middle of the woods.”

“Please don’t.”

Jack's fingers rub against the two scars on his arm, refraining, under Mac’s scrutinizing gaze, from touching the newly placed stitches. Each one as unique as the person who put them there. He looks up with a gentle smile and soft eyes. “Now I got all my kids written in my skin.” 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [spliced](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973247) by [impossiblepluto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto)




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